


Circling Hearts

by JOBrien42



Series: Hearts Cycle [3]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Episode: s07e09 The Wedding, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JOBrien42/pseuds/JOBrien42
Summary: Set during season 7's "The Wedding", Josh and Donna are still dancing around one another as they try to weather political pundits, unfaithful Democratic operatives, and their own confusing feelings for each other.   A follow up to "Fortress Around Your Heart" and "A Heart Alone"





	1. Chapter 1

_Donna’s POV_

Governor Baker will be joining us at a photo op here in Pennsylvania tomorrow.

I’m on my way to update the press. I have mixed feelings about the Governor; if he’d held up to his agreement at the Convention, I would have been part of winning the Democratic nomination, and would likely have an even loftier position than I’ve now got with the Santos campaign. But Vinick would have steamrolled Bob Russell. The Vice President had been mediocre in the debates, and Will had run his campaign with smoke and mirrors - smoke, mirrors and the fundraising opportunities of both the office of the Vice Presidency and being the frontrunner for the nomination. Those advantages would have fallen flat on the big stage. Bruno has Vinick pushing in every state, and he has the money to do it. Russell would be lucky to still be clinging to a lead in his home state of Colorado.

And, on a personal note, if Russell had won, I don’t know if I would ever have seen Josh again. Of course I wanted to beat him, but there was no way he would have come to work for Russell, and he’d burned most of his bridges with the White House as well. It had been so hard when we would see each other on the campaign trail, building that wall between us, and had the Vice President gotten the nomination, it would only have grown.

I’ve been chipping away at that wall for three weeks and we’ve only just gotten to the point where we can be in the same room and talk like professionals again. If the convention had gone differently, I worry that Josh would’ve left for the private sector or just fallen off the face of the earth.

I push into the room with “Press” on a piece of paper taped to the door. “Hey, I just wanted to give you guys a heads-up…”

After the statement, I’m asked about Ellie Bartlet’s wedding and still being down in the polls. I give a good quote - plugging the _Economist_ article about what the Congressman might do for race relations. They keep at it, I pivot towards the state polls. There’s a blind “Senior Democrat” quote demanding a shake up and I shut that down. Get rid of Josh after everything he’s done? I’d like to give that “Senior Democrat” a piece of my mind and a kick in the ass.

I tell them this race is closer than they think, and head back to the war room. My phone is already buzzing. A reporter saying she’s got a source saying we’re going dark in Arizona. Another saying we’re moving back into Illinois. I tell them I’ll find out and keep walking. Edie calls me next to go over the plan for tomorrows photo op..

I walk in, finishing the call. Josh is with Bram and Lou. He’s exhausted and he looks like hell.

_Josh’s POV_

Five states dark. Yeah, Lou, I know. Everyone’s going to be pissed at the campaign, and ultimately, at me. It’s nothing new. If I can just get the Congressman over the finish line, I’ll happily take all the slings and arrows they want to dish out.

I notice when she comes in, talking on the phone about south Jersey and the suburbs of Philadelphia. I swallow my pride and verify that she got the photo op with Governor Baker.

“Santos, Baker, and a cheese-steak,” she replies.

I glance over and suggest a hoagie instead, but apparently Advance is insisting on a cheese-steak. I ask her to trust me, and there’s a little sting. There was a time when I wouldn’t have to ask.

“The press is getting a little antsy,” she says, her voice measured as she changes the subject.

“Yeah, tell them national polls are meaningless,” I say. Except for fundraising purposes, of course. And public perception.

“The staff's a little antsy, too.”

“Yeah.” Morale, too. I can see it in their faces, the uncertainty, the lack of confidence in me.

“You guys have been behind closed doors since we got to Philly.”

I try to deflect. “Killer game of Boggle.”

“Since we got to Philly,” she repeats, worry in her voice.

“Donna…” I warn. Her name feels strange coming from my mouth, like I’m speaking a foreign language I haven’t used since I was a child.

“There's a rumor we're pulling out of Arizona.”

How the hell do people find out so fast? Or have I just gotten so predictable - that any state we’re down by ten isn’t worth fighting for. I look and our eyes meet, a very rare event these days. “Okay, I need you to kill that rumor.”

“Is it because we're moving money into Illinois?”

I wish. Illinois was under the 10 point threshold, but the media buy from Chicago would make it impossible to compete in Iowa, Missouri, Wisconsin…

“Josh, Joshua!” Lou says, with an odd, positive tone to her voice that makes me smile. “We just picked up five points in Illinois.”

“What?”

_Donna’s POV_

He sounds stunned.

“Illinois tracking poll,” Lou explains, excitedly, as she picks up a paper from the printer.

“We- We’re down by nine points.” He stammers a little.

“Not anymore,” Lou says and Josh follows her into the inner sanctum. In their excitement, they don’t close the doors and I move to a place where I can discreetly observe what’s going on, a bookshelf to the left near the entrance. I pretend to browse the selection of briefing books. I hate not being in the loop. Yes, there were times, for security reasons, Josh couldn’t tell me things, and I know that even C.J. wasn’t given certain information so she’d better maintain plausible deniability as Press Secretary, but it still feels like another reminder of how far apart Josh and I have grown. Just like that last exchange - it seems we can’t even look at each other for more than a second for fear of what we might see.

“What's going on?” I can faintly hear the Congressman’s voice.

Lou chimes in, “We’re only down four in Illinois.”

“Let me see that,” I hear Josh ask.

“Really?” Santos says, welcoming the news.

I hear Leo point out that the campaign had barely spent money in the state.

“This could be a mistake.” Josh doesn’t want this to be true, and I think I know why. “We should have Joey rerun this in the morning.”

“No, this has got to be the _Trib_ ,” Leo says. Chicago’s his hometown, and you can hear his pride.

“The _Tribune_ endorsement put us within four?”

“Four points, the state's in play!”

“We need a big media buy, huge,” Lou is mobilizing fast. “Maybe a swing through Chicago this week.” I smile. I love Chicago. Growing up in Madison, it was the Big City for us, our New York or Los Angeles, and I spent some time there when I was working the Midwest Corridor for the Campaign. Of course, we won’t have time for a show or to go to the Field Museum or the Shedd Aquarium, but there’s that great Italian place near UIC and we might have time to stop.

“Twenty one electoral votes.” It’s huge for us. It opens up the electoral math. It’s the glimmer of hope we’ve all been waiting for.

“Close a door, open a roof.” It’s like I can hear the smile on Leo’s face.

“I'm thinking a 1500 rating points buy, maybe 2000.” Lou says,

There’s a brief pause. From my vantage point, I can see the Congressman turn, but from this distance, I can’t read his eyes.

“Where the hell are we going to get the money?”

And there it is. I’d suspect Josh is forgetting the lesson of “Fishhooks” McCarthy I’d tried to teach him in happier times, but based on appearances, his health is suspect at best, and whatever strength he’s got is fading too.

I find myself getting mad at him for not taking better care of himself, and move to grab one of the briefing books off the shelf to take with me so I can make a graceful exit. As I stand up, I look in the room, and he’s there, and our eyes meet again. For a moment, his guard is down. Just for a second, I can see through a crack in the wall, and he’s standing there, his expression haunted, looking lost and alone.

_Josh’s POV_

A couple hours later Lou and I are back in the D.C. headquarters, trying to find some way to pay for what we need to make an Illinois push viable. She suggests New York (up six, thirty-one electoral votes) and Missouri (down two for eleven), but I counter. She mentions Iowa, and yeah, but Des Moines and Cedar Rapids aren’t going to cover the expense.

She whines a bit, something about a warm bath, but I shrug it off. We have to figure this out. “Well, conference room, five minutes,” I say as I stop by Edie’s desk.

Edie hands me the schedule for the next three days, our weekend point buys and my messages. “Anything urgent?”

“You got ten state party chairs worried you’re going to pull local advertising.”

Ouch. I’m afraid to ask. “Anything else?”

She informs me that we’ve gotten calls from pretty much every elected Democrat in Illinois, including three from the guy running the Chicago DNC field office. I ask her to set up a breakfast for him tomorrow.

“Okay, you realize you have a breakfast every half hour between 8:00 and 1:00?” she points out.

“The later ones must be lunches,” I try to quip, but it doesn’t land at all. My phone rings. I check the number, swallow and answer. “Yeah?”

“Tomorrow's photo op?”

“Yeah.” I know where this is going.

Donna tells me that Baker’s office said he’d be having a cheese-steak. “Howard in Advance is worried about the comparative visual.”

“They think the hoagie's gonna look weak?”

“I believe his exact words were ‘pansy-assed’,” she says, her tone teasing.

I sigh. “Howard's from Philly, right?” She confirms. No way around it, I guess. “Okay. Go with the cheese-steak.”

“Yeah.”

“But prep him on how to order it: no Swiss, no Munster, just sauce and whiz.” If we’re worried about visuals, we can’t have the Congressman get hoity-toity with the iconic Philadelphian meal.

“Whiz?” she asks. Figures that would be considered a foreign substance in the land of a thousand cheeses.

“Cheese whiz. Ask Howard,” I say. Remembering tomorrow’s big event, I add, “And, uh, no onions. He's got a photo op with the President at the wedding. I don't want him knocking him over with the breath.”

“Got it. Thanks guys.” Over the speakerphone I hear people getting up, and then there’s a click as she picks up the receiver. “I'm getting calls about Illinois.”

“Tell 'em we're excited.”

“The press is wondering who decided not to contest the state.” There’s something vaguely accusatory in her tone, but that may be my guilt interpreting things.

There’s nothing to be done for it. “Tell 'em I did. Tell 'em I also made the decision not to contest Georgia, where we're down by eleven, and not to contest Mississippi, where we're down by fifteen.”

Lou’s at the door, asking if I’m ready for the meeting. I confirm, and abruptly tell Donna I have to go and hang up on her. I belatedly feel I should have said thanks, or at least good-bye, but it’s time to focus and I shove that thought down.

We get to the conference room and pour over the map. After a seeming interminable time, figuring and re-figuring the numbers, I announce “New Hampshire, Iowa, Wisconsin.” I get up and mark the board. “We pull out of the original five, we go dark in New Hampshire, we halve the ad buy in Wisconsin and Iowa.”

 _Wisconsin._ An echo of my own words, a couple years ago, while interviewing Joe Quincy for Deputy White House Counsel. “How can you not like Donna? She’s from Wisconsin!” We got shot at that night. She’d been worried about me, had called Stanley. Back when she cared.

Lou asks if I’m sure, and I stare at the board for a bit, trying to refocus. “Yeah,” I say.

“Hallelujah,” she says, exhaustion evident. “Do you want me to call the media team?”

“No,” I quickly reply, “I'm meeting with a couple of congressmen from Wisconsin tomorrow. Let me break the news to them first.”

“Okay. I'm gonna head out.”

“Wait.” I don’t want to cut Wisconsin. Part of me wants to win it, for her. I hear Lou’s frustration. I stare at the map, try to wrest some sort of winning formula that keeps the money in Donna’s home state. I fail. “No, this is right. We got it.”

She bolts, and I walk out into the office area, where MSNBC has one of their political analysts, Mike Diacovo, talking about my screw up.

“They picked up five points in Illinois, great. But the question we need to be asking is: ‘Why wasn't Santos there in the first place?’ If you ask me, it's a pretty big tactical error on the part of Josh Lyman.”

I freeze.

Behind me, Lou asks if I need a ride. I tell her I’ve got to things to finish. She leaves, and I turn back to the TV.

“... should have been watching the sampling data. Of course, this campaign is still salvageable, but he certainly can't afford to make another Illinois-sized mistake, which is why I think some people have begun to question whether Josh Lyman is the right person to take the Santos campaign down the stretch.”

Yeah. And right now you can count me among those “some people”, Mike.

_Donna’s POV_

I am tempted to throw my mug of tea at the screen. I hate Mike Diacovo and his stupid Monday Morning Quarterbacking face.

He’s not entirely wrong, if I’m honest, even if he said it in the most irritating, benefit of hindsight-y way possible. Maybe if Josh wasn’t still trying to do this all by himself, he could have caught the trend in Illinois.

Eight years ago, Leo had Josh to talk these sort of things through. He had Toby, C.J., and Sam. They were together from almost the very start, before Iowa, and by the general, they were a finely honed team. And the Governor had Mrs. Landingham, Leo had Margaret, and Josh had me, and they relied on us implicitly.

The Santos-McGarry campaign has talent. Lou is brilliant. Edie and Bram and Lester are all great, and Ronna is really on top of things, but we’ve been assembled piecemeal after the primaries, and we’ve barely started to gel. And I know I’m good - really good - at what they have me doing, but I’m no C.J. Cregg. And I know Josh doesn’t fully trust any of us.

Joey Lucas - maybe the one person aside from Leo he will still allow himself to rely on - hadn’t reported the shift. Sure, the in-state operatives might have seen it, but we’ve been talking all day and no one could remember getting any solid evidence that the state was suddenly in play. It all sounded like the same wishful thinking we were getting from Arizona or Georgia. Yes, Josh can get tunnel-visioned, but if Lou or Edie had come to him saying that there was movement, I don’t think he’d have ignored them. This was a failure of the entire team, and Josh is taking the fall for us.

I remember that look, when our eyes met earlier. Here he was, in a room with his mentor and his hand-picked candidate, celebrating the best news since the post-debate bump, and he looked so alone. Beaten. I can’t remember the last time I saw his old swagger, the one famous throughout the Beltway. Probably not since we were both in the White House. Since before I left him. Even after Santos won the nomination, probably Josh’s greatest political achievement in a career filled with them, he hadn’t celebrated. No “victory is mine”. No “it is done and I did it.” He just came and had a beer with me and Will.

As if he couldn’t celebrate with me, it wasn’t worth celebrating.

How had I missed that? I was sitting there, unsure if he was going to rub my face in his victory, and he just… wanted to be with me.

Dammit. I can’t let myself get dragged down by thoughts like these. Tomorrow we’ve got the press event with Governor Baker, and then Ellie Bartlet’s wedding. I’m not going to have time to properly prepare for that. I’d love to get my hair and makeup done. I’ve gone back and forth on the dress, too. It might be the one chance I get to have Josh really look at me again, to see me like he had that night of the second inaugural.

Or in Germany.

Dammit, dammit, dammit. I do not have time for this. I spare another violent thought towards Mike Diacovo as I brush my teeth, and then just collapse into bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of Ellie Bartlet's wedding, and Josh is scrambling to recover from a misstep in the Santos Campaign.

_Josh’s POV_

The dreams weren’t as bad last night, or at least there was only one. And it wasn’t filled with past regrets, but a future. Standing under the _chuppah_ , before the rabbi, with my bride, veiled, before me. Looking out and seeing my mother, beaming at me from her seat, surrounded by my friends. Turning back to the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with and find that she’s vanished into thin air.

I guess I just have today’s wedding on the brain.

“Hey.”

“New Hampshire, Iowa, Wisconsin,” I say to Leo.

“Good morning to you, too.” He sounds chipper.

“You here to sit with Jerry?”

“And then Trautman and Alexander. You?”

I try to remember. “Uh, Chicago field rep, Cooper, Steele, Golden, Walvick.” I get back to the point. “I'm thinking New Hampshire, Iowa, Wisconsin.”

“Did you get some sleep?” he asks. Hah.

“We cut New Hampshire, pull money out of Iowa and Wisconsin.”

“Really, you've got to pace yourself.”

“I mean, New Hampshire's a no-brainer,” I say, trying to keep him on task.

“I'm serious. You should be getting at least five hours.” When? Where in hell do you find five hours to do anything but the job?

“Only four electoral votes, we're paying a premium because the ad buy is out of Boston.” I’m sorry, Mr. President, but your state is too damn expensive to contest.

He keeps badgering me. “Soon you're going to be at two hours a night and it only gets worse if we win.”

Good. Fewer dreams that way. But I need his advice, so I try to get his attention. “Leo.”

“New Hampshire?”

“Yeah,” I say, glad to have him on board the important conversation here.

“It's not worth the ad buy.”

“Iowa and Wisconsin,” I continue, managing not to stutter on the latter.

“Iowa, sure.” He agrees, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “How much are we up in Wisconsin?”

“Three points and the Illinois ad buy should carry into Wisconsin.” He isn’t comfortable with it either. In a weird way, that makes me feel better, that it’s not just an emotional response.

“You consider cutbacks in Missouri?”

“We're only down two points.” I tell him. “I don't want to cede the state.”

Someone calls for him, and he moves to go to his first meeting. “Sounds right. I've got to go make nice with the fat cats.”

“Well, pick some pockets, will you?” I hope I don’t sound too desperate.

“Get some sleep.”

I shrug and say “Yeah” but he knows I won’t. I see my first breakfast is on his way - he introduces himself as Stan Mitchell, and he’s running the field ops for the DNC in Chicago. I thank him for coming, and he starts in on the “I told you so’s”. I head him off at the pass - can we get the full operation in the field by Election Day? He calls it doing “a six-month job in six weeks” like he’s Scotty from Star Trek, but they can, sure. It’ll just cost us.

Yeah, I know. A crap ton of money and my head on a silver platter, likely.

At least the waiter just refreshed my coffee.

Later, I’m on my fourth meeting, sitting with Congressman Golden of the Wisconsin 3rd. He’s dragging me about cutting the point buy. Vinick's outspending us two to one, and he’s understandably worried about the down ticket races. As he continues to lambaste me, my phone starts ringing.

“Do you need to take that?” he asks.

I look at the number. She only calls when it’s important for the campaign. I tell him I do.

He goes to leave, but not before suggesting that we pull from Michigan (up three, seventeen electoral votes) and Jersey (up four, fifteen). I get up and shake his hand. I thank him for his advice and go to answer the phone.

“Hey, how was Philly?”

“Pretty good, pretty good.” Her voice has that “bad news” edge to it.

“Did you get the photo op?”

“No, we got it,” she tells me. “A little problem with the cheese-steak, though.”

“He screwed up the order.” The Congressman calling audibles has been the norm. If he tried to get creative…

“Sauce and whiz, no onions.”

I tell her it sounds fine.

“The whiz got a little drippy.”

And we’re back in the ephemera of box three. “How drippy?” I ask, with a shudder.

“He probably should have ordered the hoagie.”

“Who was at the photo op?” I need to know the damage we’re looking at, but out of the corner of my eye I see Senator Montgomery meeting with a few others. I groan inwardly. He wasn’t on my list, but he looks over and I see he’s about to crash the party.

She lists the news outlets… AP, Reuters, the Times, Le Monde... “We figure it's probably front page of the Philadelphia Inquirer. Any way you'd like me to spin it? ‘Acts like a man, eats like a man’?”

Montgomery is headed my way. “Yeah, I got to go,” I say to her and hang up.

George Montgomery starts in quick on Illinois, and I rope-a-dope as best I can. He’s upset we’re pulling back in Iowa (down two, seven), and suggests cutting from Pennsylvania (up three, twenty-one), specifically Philly, which is where most of the damn Democratic votes are. As he leaves he tells me he’ll see me at the wedding. At this point I’d forgotten, or at least tried to forget.

I still have to meet with Congresswoman Walvick and let her knock me around a bit before I can go back to headquarters and get changed. My mind drifts and I begin to wonder what Donna’s going to wear, but only for a moment. Focus, Lyman, you’ve got a job to do.

I get up and greet the Representative from the Wisconsin 4th. She’s in a tight race, and, along with Golden, makes a good case. If we pull this off, it’d be a blessing to have a Democratic House, and if we don’t - I don’t want to think of what damage a Republican President - even one as honorable as Arnie Vinick - could do with a Republican Congress.

I finish my breakfasts and lunches and head back to Headquarters. I struggle into my rented tux and put on the pre-tied bow tie. I’ve managed to tie a real tie since she left, but this isn’t a night to be Tony Bennett. I plan to make my appearance and then get out as soon as is diplomatically feasible, which is hopefully right after the first dance. I should run that by Lou to make sure.

I go back to the conference room to stare at the map some more.

“Josh?” Lou is behind me.

“You think we should cut the media buy in Missouri?” I throw out the question.

“Aren't you supposed to be at the wedding?”

I’m trying to process all of the advice I’ve gotten over the past twenty hours or so. “Missouri or maybe New York.”

“To pay for Illinois?” Lou asks me.

“We should take a harder look at Michigan.”

“I just called the media team to pull the money out of Wisconsin.” I hear the frustration in her voice. She’s pissed at me, and she’s about to get more so.

“Yeah, uh, we're going to hold off on that.”

Edie comes in to tell me that my car is ready, and I tell Lou that I’ll call her after the wedding.

As I head to the town car waiting for me, I realize I never went over the protocol of just how long I have to suffer today. I’m not entirely sure why I’ve been invited. Maybe President Bartlet took pity on me, or is throwing the campaign a bone by letting us get some photo ops and strategy meetings with his staff and cabinet. Come to think of it, I don’t know if I even saw an invitation. Ronna just told me it came and that she’d R.S.V.P.’d for me. I hope she picked the chicken, since there’s no way a steak dish will be remotely cooked enough to be what I consider edible.

Was I supposed to have a plus one? I mean, I could have dragged Lou, but I’m not exactly going to be the best company anyway and she’s mad at me. I need her here, anyway, so at least someone’s getting work done. A year ago, of course, I’d be bringing… no time to think about that. I get my cell phone out and head to the car.

Our headquarters isn’t far from the White House, but it still takes forty-five minutes to get dropped off. I could have walked quicker. It does give me the chance to talk to four state chairs, do callbacks to the Wisconsin congressional delegation to reassure them we aren’t pulling funding, and end up chatting with Otto. I ask him to contact Joey Lucas, well, Kenny, really, but ultimately Joey. I need updated numbers for every place I might be able to squeeze for enough money from to make a real charge in the Land of Lincoln.

I’m still talking to him as I walk into the reception area. My eyes focus on the Congressman, in an earnest conversation with Senator Montgomery, and I nearly miss C.J. approaching with Barry Goodwin.

“Ah, Josh,” Goodwin says. “He's just a big blowhard.”

He must have noticed me looking at Montgomery. I do have a terrible poker face. I greet them both, “C.J., Mr. Chairman.”

“Former Chairman, Josh,” he corrects me.

C.J. smiles and adds, “Wishful thinking, maybe.”

I shake his hand and kiss her on the cheek.

Goodwin smiles and says, “Oh, no. Those of us on the sidelines can see what a great job he's doing.”

I look at him closely, but his poker face is better than mine. “I appreciate that, sir,” I say.

“Now, if we can just get this one to run for something,” he says jovially, indicating C.J.. “Good to see you, Josh.”

“You too, sir.”

“Keep up the good work.” He seems sincere. I tell him I appreciate it and shake his hand before he wanders off.

“Barry Goodwin running the party; those were the days, huh?” C.J.’s tone is a little wistful.

I absent-mindedly concur. I’m still smarting from last week, when she didn’t bother trying to get the President to help us with the church appearance. Toby’s revelation that “I’ll take it to the President, see what he thinks” meant “it’s never going to happen, and then her having Margaret call to tell me it wouldn’t makes me wonder if she’s blaming me for abandoning the White House, if she doesn’t believe in our campaign, or some combination of the two. She says something about us being excited, but I’m not focused. Head in the game, I tell myself. Should’ve gotten some Red Bull before I left.

“Illinois,” she clarifies.

I tell her that’s if we can afford it. She has no concept of what I’m dealing with. I mean, things were bad during the Bartlet for America days, but the Democrats had been out of power for Lassiter’s eight years, and the liberals and moderates were more eager to open their pocketbooks than this go around. And things hadn’t been nearly so damn expensive.

She suggests cutting back in Seattle and is surprised when I tell her we’ve pulled out of the whole state. “Wow! Things that tight?”

“Welcome to my world,” I say as her beeper goes off. She pulls it out of her purse. “Is that Kazakhstan?”

“Probably,” she admits. “You want to trade?” She thrusts a little card into my hand and says, “Here. Take your mind off things.”

“Dignitary Bingo?” I ask.

“I've already got four across. Find the Mexican President and you're home,” she tells me and walks off in the direction of the Situation Room. I look back to my candidate, and see that Leo and Goodwin have joined his conversation with the Senator.

I wonder if I have time to take C.J. up on her offer to swap.

 

_Donna’s POV_

I’ve been mingling for a while, staying fairly close to Helen Santos. She’s talking to a Congresswoman who worked with her husband, so I’ve taken the opportunity to chat with Charlie when I see Josh walk in. I don’t know if I should check in or not - he’s on the phone, so he’s clearly still in work mode. C.J. and Barry Goodwin intercept him, so I stay put.

“You OK?” Charlie asks me.

“I’m fine,” I say. I almost mean it.

“I can still go kick his ass, you know,” he says. I’d run into Charlie the day after my disastrous first encounter with the campaign, when I’d come to have an exit interview with Will. He was ready to go tear Josh a new one before I talked him down. I know he loves Josh like a brother, so it had felt good to know he was there for me that day.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I give a little smile, “but his isn’t the ass that might need kicking.”

“He’s getting grief about Illinois?” I nod at him, keeping my eyes on Josh. C.J. hands him something and heads off. Charlie follows my gaze. “He doesn’t look so good.”

“Well, you know Josh,” I say, sadly.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Miss Moss.” I turn and see Senator Englemann of New Hampshire. “What a pleasure to see you doing so well.”

“Senator,” I say, and he gives me a kiss on the cheek. He had supported Russell in the primaries, and I’d done some fundraising events with him. He had also known me when I was Josh’s assistant. “We still have a little further to go.”

“We’re all rooting for you, of course,” the Senator says. “It’s too bad Josh missed Illinois, though. That might be the ballgame.”

“I wouldn’t count us out just yet,” I say. I’m gritting my teeth, and Charlie looks like he feels the same.

“In case things don’t,” he says, handing me a card. “I could always use someone like you in my office. Just give me a call in November.”

“Thank you, Senator, I’m flattered,” I say. The bastard walks off and joins the Canadian Prime Minister and the French Ambassador. I look around and see that I’ve lost sight of Josh. I do see that Congressman Santos is talking to Leo, Senator Montgomery and Chairman Goodwin. I turn to Charlie, but his attention is fixated on Zoey Bartlet, who is headed our way, dressed in an elegant blue dress.

The pair embrace, and I quickly gather things have rekindled since I saw them last. I smile warmly for probably the first time since I got here. She’s come a long way since those awful days three years ago, and it’s clear how much they care for each other. I do feel a little awkward watching them look adoringly at one another, so I go to make my excuses.

Before I can move, Zoey breaks away and gives me a quick hug. “I’m sorry, Donna, we didn’t mean to ignore you. It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s great to see you, too. Don’t worry about me. You two should spend time together while C.J. is away.”

“I’m just happy they managed to get my sister’s maid of honor here from England. I was almost pressed into emergency bridesmaid duty,” she said, laughing. “Hey, when you see Josh, tell him he owes me a dance tonight.”

Josh is really cute with Zoey. She’s the little sister he never had, and she teases him mercilessly, which is generally a lot of fun to watch. “If I see him, I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

“If?” she asks, confused. “When I looked at the seating chart for the reception, it had you two next to each other at the same table.” She actually looks disappointed.

“They probably put the Santos campaign all together,” I surmise.

“I guess that makes sense,” Zoey says with a frown. Charlie whispers something in her ear, and she looks at me with an expression that borders on pity. She whispers something back and he nods.

“Well, I should get some hors d’oeuvres before the ceremony starts, and then see if I can’t find my wandering campaign manager,” I say, wanting desperately to extricate myself from this situation. “You two kids have fun.”

I check in with Mrs. Santos, who seems to be doing fairly well. I drink another glass of champagne, and then put some fried wontons on a plate. As I move through the assembled guests, I hear so many compliments for my work as spokesperson from former associates, so many telling me how great it is to see me blossoming with my expanded role, and the warmth of pride that generates obscures the gnawing worry in my gut. I find myself standing taller as I make my way through to the edge of the room and almost run into the Surgeon General, Dr. Millicent Griffith.

We exchange pleasantries, with Dr. Griffith talking about how excited she is for Ellie. I’d almost forgotten this is her goddaughter’s wedding. I’m at least a little uneasy around her - the last time I spent any time around her was when Josh was in surgery, when I nearly lost him. She’d come in while I was watching the operation, and she patiently talked me through what was going on. It meant so much to me at the time - I have this thing where I need to know everything I can about something; that understanding gives me a sense of control. It was also the longest day of my life, and one I don’t like to think about too hard because of certain truths I’d had to face.

“How’s Josh doing?” she asks, cutting through the small talk.

“He’s fine,” I say, switching to spokesperson mode. “Great, even. He’s excited about the news out of Illinois, and devising a-“

“Donna,” she chides me. “I’m not asking about the campaign.”

I look at her. “He’s… you have to understand, I’m not around him that much. He’s usually here in Washington, and I’m off with the Congressman.”

“But?”

She knows. She knows Josh, she’s seen his scar. I’m sure she was briefed about his meetings with Stanley Keyworth.

“He’s Josh,” I say, finally. “He’s throwing himself into his work. He’s not sleeping, he’s barely eating. He doesn’t trust us, so he’s micromanaging almost everything. And then the Illinois news and now he’s beating himself over that. I’m worried about him and I don’t know what to do.”

She nods gravely. “Do you know if he’s keeping up with his medications?”

“No - I don’t know.” I fight off a wave of shame, and then another of resentment. I’m not his assistant. I’m not his mother. He has to take ownership of his own health.

“I’ll see if I can get him in to see someone. I’ll talk to Leo if I have to,” she says. “Right now, the best we can do is see if we can’t get him to at least relax and enjoy himself today.”

I’ve spotted Santos, Leo, Goodwin and Montgomery, heads bowed in intense conversation, heading for the East Room. “Thank you Dr. Griffith,” I say. I mean it sincerely, but I’m sure I sound a little agitated at what I see.

“Donna,” she says, as I move to leave. “You need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself too.”

I force a smile and head off. I eventually find him on the stairs, all alone. I make my way down, still carrying my plate.

“Fried wonton?” I ask.

“Hey,” he says, not looking up. He’s got a small electoral map and he’s completely focused on it.

I sit down next to him. “Really, they're pretty good.”

He grunts something in acknowledgement. I think of what Dr. Griffith said and try to break through with a little humor. I move in, practically purring in his ear. “They're out of champagne, though. The First Lady just gave me 20 bucks and told me to pick up a bottle of Cold Duck.” I lean back on my hands. “Josh…”

He turns and looks at me for the first time. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Have you seen Leo?”

I’m throwing my best pout at him. “I'm bored. I'm an attractive woman waiting to be entertained.”

He starts to get up. “He was just with the President. I'm sure he's still…”

“I just saw him headed toward the East Room,” I confess to him. I can feel the worry radiating off of him, I can see the tension in the set of his jaw and his shoulders.

He starts climbing the stairs.

“He was with the Congressman,” I say. He looks back at me. I continue, “And Barry Goodwin and Senator Montgomery. It looked pretty intense.”

He looks away.

“Illinois?” I ask, and he glances back at me. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” I say with a slight shake of my head. He looks down at me again, his expression one of concern, but also of vulnerability. He’s just chosen to open up to me, however briefly, even as he walks away.

Things are worse than I thought. For the campaign, but maybe not between me and Josh. He didn’t make me feel unwelcome, just not helpful. And that look - it almost felt like he at least appreciated the attempt.

Of course, he’s beating himself up over the mistake and he’s swimming in self pity. Then again, he may be about to be fired. They wouldn’t do it at a wedding, would they? I’m not naïve, but that seems cold even for D.C. politics.

I don’t know what I’ll do if he is fired. Part of me wants to quit. I don’t know if I want to be part of an organization that would dismiss his loyalty and effort that way. I’m also sure that’s the last thing he’d want me to do. He’s still going to want Santos to win. He’ll be hurt and he’ll whine, but he’s always a team player. He’s given so much of the years, for the President, for Leo, for his Party, and for them to toss him on the street for a mistake we all made…

And who would they replace him with? The only people I know as good as Josh are Leo - our Vice Presidential candidate - and Bruno, who’s running Vinick’s campaign. What are they going to do? Promote Lou? Bring in Will? Whoever ran the campaigns that lost to Lassiter?

I know I have to stay, even if they fire Josh. I made the choice to prioritize my career last December, and as painful as it was, it had been the right thing to do. And he will still want us to succeed, it’s not like I’d be betraying him. And being fired might be the best thing for him, personally. Give him a chance to sleep, to eat a real meal, to see his doctors. He could go down to Florida and spend time with his mother. He could relax.

OK, maybe not that. He would sit in a room and watch CNN and MSNBC all day and scream at the television and feel impotent and, well, guilty, but at least he’d be with someone who cared for him and who would look out for him.

I really believe it would be the worst thing for the campaign, though, and for the country. I once told Josh he had a year to convince me to not vote for Vinick, and he did so by finding a good, decent man to run in Matthew Santos and willing him to the Democratic nomination.

And if they fire him it would be the worst thing for us. We might lose all the progress we’ve made towards being friends again. I do love him. I have for so long, and I nearly lost myself in the process. But now I’ve found myself again, and I know that that love hasn’t gone away. I don’t want to lose him.

I sit on the steps and finish the fried wontons. I consider going to hover outside the East Room, either to give the conspirators a good Wisconsin farm girl tongue lashing, or to give Josh my support, but the former would probably cause a scandal and the latter, I know we’re not there yet.

I look at the time - it’s after 5:30 and the wedding was supposed to start a half hour ago. I make my way back to the reception area so I can find my seat.

 

_Josh’s POV_

I’ve come outside to get some air.

It’s funny, she was only next to me for a moment, but I can still smell her perfume. It’s getting harder to remember that we aren’t what we once were, especially being here in this building, and definitely not when she acts like she did, like old times, sitting next to me and making stupid, endearing jokes.

But we’re not what we were. We’re associates, co-workers, on the same campaign. We have a common goal. It may be, if the stars align just right, that we might end up friends again.

I think back to that phone call last week, where she said that she did care, that she was my friend. Maybe she even believes it, in her cheese-fed, Wisconsin farm-adjacent sort of way. She cares for everyone; she’s friendly with almost everyone. It’s one of the things I… admire about her. But I’ve been burned twice, and that’s enough.

It’s been ten months. When is it going to stop hurting?

I shake my head, shove my hands in my pockets and wait for my thoughts begin to rein in. I’d told her once that I only act when I’m trapped in a corner, and that’s where I am. I need to focus on what’s important. This is the job. This is what I do. And everything else is crap.

She really looked beautiful in that dress.

I look up, and see Leo heading my way. “Is the wedding starting?” I ask.

“Not yet,” he answers. So he’s here on business.

“How's Senator Montgomery?” Might as well get this over with. If I’m being fired, I can just leave and protocol be damned.

“Full of hot air, as usual.”

“Yeah?” I say. “Who's he want to replace me?”

“Josh.” He’s saying my name like that will end the conversation, but this is my career here. This is everything.

“Who is it?” I demand.

“No one wants to replace you.”

I look at his face and I don’t believe him. He’s raised me better than that. “It's Goodwin too, isn't it?” I feel myself getting agitated. That two faced- “Son of a bitch. He was just shaking my... So, who do they want? Is it Pipeman? Bloom? I mean, the guy's practically tone deaf when it comes to message politics, but I'm sure he'd be good.”

He says my name again, but I keep going. “You could get Simons or Sharp. Maybe you should just promote Lou. It's not like any of the others have run a Presidential…”

I look at him, and it hits me. There’s no question who Goodwin would suggest. Who Montgomery would want. “They want you.” There’s an almost imperceptible nod. “It's you, isn't it? Hell, that's who I'd want. You would have known. You would have been in Illinois months ago, right?” He snaps at me, telling me to stop, but this is what’s been tearing me up since I heard the news. “Right? You would have figured it out. Where would you have gotten the dough? Come on tell me, where would you have gotten the money?”

I’ve been replaying the campaign over and over and I really need to know where I messed up. I’ve tried to learn everything he’s had to teach me, he entrusted me with finding the person to secure the President’s legacy, and I’ve screwed it up, and I just don’t know how.

“I wouldn't have gotten the money because I wouldn’t have been in Illinois. The polls there looked as bad as when we were running against Eisenhower. I would have made the same decision as you. And that is exactly what I told Barry Goodwin and George Montgomery.”

I should feel relieved, but I don’t know if he’s humoring me or not. I can’t meet his gaze.

“Look, these are tough calls. It's impossible to know how they're going to turn out. What's important is how you respond when you get it wrong, how you react, what your next move is.”

I pull out the map. “I don't know what my next move is. I've been staring at this damn map all day. I still haven't got a clue. Iowa's vulnerable. I don't know what I was thinking in Wisconsin. We can't take a dime out of Ohio, Florida, Texas... I don't know where to start. “

We look at each other. This is worse than when I had to tell my father that I’d missed the Dean’s list at Harvard. I’m failing at this campaign. I’ve failed _him_ , and I need him to bail me out. “They're right. You should take over.”

“You're all trying to kill me,” he says with a grimace, and then looks back towards the building. My eyes track his, and I can faintly hear music playing.

“The wedding's about to start,” he says. “Give me the map. Come on, we'll talk about it on the way.”

We slowly head towards the door, and all I can think is that I’ve let him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, this got more angsty than I expected, but it's not a happy episode for Josh. I promise the next chapter gets better, but he isn't done wallowing yet. I do wish we could've seen Dr. Griffith in the episode, so I've pulled her in here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding, dinner and dancing... Josh's mind turns from his election troubles to another mistake he's made. This time, he has more help than he knows in finding his way back.

_Josh’s POV_

Leo’s trying to find a way to dig us out of my mistake. Is Iowa worth it? Can we move enough moderates in St. Louis or should we cut bait in Missouri? Are we throwing money away on a dream in Illinois? He tells me to forget about it for a couple hours, and then he pointedly reminds me that leaving before the wedding is something that will make the papers and reflect poorly on the campaign.

I follow him inside, and the Congressman is there, ending a phone call. He gives me a direct look, gauging my reaction. He was ready to let me go. I’m not surprised but it’s still like a knife sticking in me. It’s worse than Goodwin.

“I’ll meet you in there,” Leo tells me.

I glance at both Leo and the Congressman and then head in to the East Room, where ushers, in consult with members of the Office of Protocol, are waiting to escort me to my seat. As the Democratic candidate and preferred successor to the Father of the Bride, Congressman Santos will be given a fairly important spot, and I’m silently hoping I won’t be seated with him. After the look he just gave me, I’m not ready to face him.

I’m taken two rows from the back directed to my left, where an open seat is waiting for me halfway down, next to Donna. She looks at me, her eyes questioning, and I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile as I sit down.

“What happened?” she whispers.

“It’s fine,” I lean over and tell her. “I’ll fill everyone in later.”

She looks over my shoulder, and I turn to see the Congressman and Mrs. Santos being taken to their seats. They both wear the smiles that Annabeth has drilled into them. His eyes flicker to me, but his face is unreadable. Leo is being escorted right behind. The three of them are seated much closer to the front.

Donna’s watching me, and she’s got this concerned look on her face. She reaches over and gives my shoulder a little squeeze, causing me to flinch involuntarily. She pulls her hand back, and I see her close her eyes and take a slow breath. She grips the wedding program with both hands and stares at it.

I didn’t mean to jerk away, and I know I’ve hurt her feelings. We used to be so comfortable, so willfully oblivious of each other’s personal space, even in a professional or formal setting. We used to be able to be of comfort to each other. But that had pretty much stopped after Germany, and I wasn’t expecting her to touch me just then.

I take a deep breath of my own and reach over to lay my hand on hers, giving it a slight squeeze of my own before withdrawing. I look at her and mouth, “Sorry.”

She smiles a little - not a full Donna smile, but enough to know that she accepts my apology. She tucks a lock of hair behind her right ear and looks at me. I return a tight smile of my own and shrug.

The ceremony is shorter than I expected, but then we are starting almost an hour late. It doesn’t have the sit, stand, kneel Catholic calisthenics that I was worried about. I suppose it’s an abbreviated, non-denominational Christian service. Eleanor looks radiant, and Vic looks like he might puke from sheer terror. He must really love her to put himself through this sort of thing.

I find myself rooting for these two kids. I know the contempt the President holds his first son-in-law, but I suppose no father ever thinks there’s someone good enough for their little girl. I’d always gotten along with Doug, up until we wouldn’t back him on running for the New Hampshire 1st, but he was never smart enough for President Bartlet. At least Vic has that going for him, he’s some sort of scientist, and Ellie does seem to be gazing adoringly at him.

I glance over at Donna, and she’s gotten a little misty-eyed, so I press my handkerchief into her hand. This earns me another smile, and she dabs away the tears. I wonder if she’s picturing herself up there. She thought she was going to be married to Dr. Freeride, almost a decade ago. She used to go on so many dates, especially in the early years of the Administration, not one of them worth her time. And even the best ones like Jack Reese were willing to throw her to the wolves to protect their own career. As near as I can tell - not that I’ve been checking up on her - she hasn’t had a boyfriend since that photojournalist from Gaza, Colin, the one she picked over me.

She doesn’t have one today, apparently, if she’s sitting next to me. Maybe the Santos campaign didn’t warrant a plus one. Maybe someone from the old days just assumed that she and I would go together, as we had for so many events when we worked here.

I guess it says something about how relieved I am to not be fired and to get Leo’s advice that I’m letting myself dwell on her, but I’ve really just traded one bit of self-pity for another. I look up at the happy couple and my mind goes back to last night’s nightmare. I know who was under the veil, or at least who my subconscious would have wanted. And I know why she vanished, at least in the dream.

In real life, too. It took me a while to come to grips with it, but I’m not completely stupid. I know she wanted more, she’d told me she did, even before I sent her nearly to her death. And i had been increasing her portfolio - small things, sure, like having her brief C.J. on the Angel Maintenance procedures when Air Force One had the landing gear issue, or, OK, I was going to have her work with C.J.’s office on the Casseon leak story until Joe Quincy - the guy she convinced me to hire, by the way! - put it together with the “life on Mars” thing and forced Hoynes to resign the Vice Presidency. And yeah, with Zoey’s kidnapping and Walken taking over things got derailed, and then I screwed up the Carrick thing and I wasn’t in any position to help other than assign her to work with Angela Blake.

But Angela Blake gave her a seat at the table. I mean, I did that for things like the base closing commission when I couldn’t be there, but Angela had her in the budget negotiations, and doing more than asking “and how much does that save?”

The best I could do was have her help organize the funeral of a former President. It was Lassiter, sure, but still a huge responsibility.

I just wish I’d been able to get her on the damn plane to Brussels. I tried. I bargained, I wheedled, I cajoled. I just couldn’t make it happen. She’d earned a spot on that trip and I failed her. And I compounded my mistake by sending her to get blown up by maniacs.

I feel a light elbow to my ribs, and I glance up and they’ve gotten to the vows.

My mind almost immediately starts drifting again. It seems the breakup with Colin was so bad that she’s given up on romance - or finally decided to work on her career first. I remember that snowy night in January, almost four years ago now, when I told her she needed to think of her career, instead of Jack’s. I nearly laugh out loud, and manage to turn it into a cough, which earns me some disapproving stares. So she ended up thinking of her career over mine. Good for her. And, frankly, I deserved that. I could have done better. I could have been a better friend once I realized she didn’t love me like I loved her. I could have let her go instead of holding on too tight. I could even try to be her friend now. Like she’s friends with Sam, or Lou, or Charlie. I just don’t know if I can. It’s like Leo when he talks about booze; one drink is too many, ten is not enough. Letting her into my heart would be too much, and I don’t know if I did that, if we were friends like we were, if I could ever be satisfied with less than to give everything and to have everything with her. No wonder she left me.

Everyone is standing up and applauding Ellie and Vic, and I join in.

_Donna’s POV_

He’s distracted. I don’t think he heard anything after the opening prayers. Every time I looked at him, he’d be staring at his hands. I had to nudge him to get him to at least pay attention to the vows.

I don’t know what happened with Santos. He isn’t acting like he was fired. Demoted maybe? I wish I knew, I wish he’d have just told me instead of saying he’d fill everyone in later. He’s just being stubborn. The way he flinched at my touch was a shot to the gut. And that he didn’t mean to, that it was a reflex? That makes it worse. He apologized, sure, but it just reminds me of how far we still have to go. Giving me his handkerchief was nice, though, and it gives me hope.

Truth be told, I really miss his hugs. Josh gives the best hugs I’ve ever had. He’s such a tactile person, and when he hugs you, you feel he’s putting his whole heart into it. When you’re celebrating, you know he is so happy for you; when it’s for comfort, you know he would do anything to make the pain go away, that he would gladly take it into himself. And when he’s just written the most beautiful, thoughtful note you’ve ever gotten in your life, you just know that he loves you.

We all celebrate the union with applause. I loved it when Vic actually stammered over his vows, and had to repeat them - the old line from “Makin’ Whoopee” came to mind. They share a tender, but brief, kiss and you know neither of them wanted all this attention, but Ellie’s doing it for her father and Vic is doing it for Ellie. Soon they are exiting the room with the wedding party, for photos in the Rose Garden.

I look over at Josh, who is still in a daze. I lean over and say, “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Hmm?”

I repeat myself and he looks down. “You’d be overpaying,” he says, finally.

“You weren’t fired, were you?”

“No,” he shrugs. “It looks like you and Lou and the rest still have to put up with me for a few more weeks.”

I start to object, but if he’s this far into his self-pity, it’ll just start a fight. And a fight might be welcome, a nice protracted screaming match where we get everything out in the open and I can tell him what a fool he’s being. Just… not at the social event of the season surrounded by Ambassadors, Prime Ministers and the Queen of England.

We sit in silence, waiting for the rows before us to empty out. I can see through the door that they’ve set up tables all along the outside of the Cross Hall, and I imagine the Entrance Hall and the State Dining Room are as well. I’ve always been amazed by how capable and dedicated the staff here is.

I try another tract. “When we get out there, I’m going to get questions about Illinois. Is there anything you want me to say?”

His eyes dart to me, then away again. “Same as before. We’re excited. We’re grateful for the Tribune’s endorsement.”

“Are there any states whose members of Congress I should avoid?”

“Donna,” he says, “you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“Talk shop with me,” he answers. “This is a wedding. Go, enjoy yourself.”

“Why, what do you know, this is a wedding!,” I say with mock surprise. “Since you dozed through the ceremony, I wasn’t sure you noticed.”

“I didn’t doze through the ceremony.”

“That’s too bad,” I tell him. “You could’ve used the rest.”

“Donna!” There’s almost a touch of the old whine there, but I don’t know how much I can press.

“Oh,” I say, “and before I forget, Zoey told me that you owe her a dance.”

“Zoey Bartlet?”

“Yes.”

“The President’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Wants me to dance,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Crap,” he frowns.

“You were going to bail early, weren’t you?” I ask, but I know the answer.

He nods, and his shoulders slump. He won’t disappoint Zoey, so he’ll stick around, but I can tell he really doesn’t want to be here. He seems so ill at ease when he used to walk these halls like he owned the place.

It’s finally our turn to exit. I notice the staffers getting ready to remove all the chairs for the wedding and transform the East Room for the reception. Josh practically bolts through the crowd, like he’s running away. If I’m asked, I’ll say he hates being out of touch with the campaign this long.

For the most part, people are mingling. This used to intimidate the hell out of me, when I would get invited - or dragged - by Josh to state events, but I’ve grown a lot since then, and I navigate through the crowd with aplomb.

Who am I kidding? I’m just faking it. I’ve seen four heads of state. I have my hand kissed by Lord John Marbury (really Lord Needham and Dolby, from what I’ve read), and I had to gracefully decline his invitation to meet her Royal Majesty before I had a panic attack. I did promise him a dance later. It’s not like I’ll get an invitation from the man I want to dance with.

“Lo, the prodigal daughter returns!” I hear behind me.

I spin around and see Dr. Abigail Bartlet, the First Lady, and I just freeze. “Ma’am?” I manage to choke out.

She opens her arms to give me a hug, and I return it awkwardly. My mind is flashing back to that night of her birthday party when I stepped way over the line and I feel my cheeks flushing.  She tells me she’s excited to see me doing so well in my career, and makes a slight dig at how Josh held me back.

“In my defense,” I say, “he did teach me most of what I know. I may have stayed too long, but what I learned directly translated into what I was able to accomplish.”

She smiles knowingly. “And how’s your leg? Are you doing your exercises?”

“Morning and night,” I confirm, “and it really only bothers me if I’m on it all day.”

“And that slave driver of a campaign manager of yours isn’t pushing you too hard?”

“No ma’am,” I say. “I actually report to Louise Thornton, so he doesn’t really tell me what to do.”

“My youngest daughter tells me you two are fighting.”

“No, not as such,” I reply carefully. Fighting might be preferable. “Our friendship suffered when I left for the Russell campaign. We really haven’t had any spare moments to work on repairing it.”

“He’ll come around,” she says with a confidence I wish I shared. “My husband’s former deputy chief of staff may be a jackass, but he doesn’t give up on the people he loves. You tell him I said to stop pouting and let you back in.”

“With all due respect, Dr. Bartlet, I can’t do that. I have to win his trust back.”

She actually rolls her eyes. “He’s a fool to not trust you.”

“Yes, ma’am, he really is,” I smile. “But we were on opposing campaigns, so he has an excuse he’s still holding on to.”

“I once told Mallory not to go for the smart ones. I see now that particular adjective doesn’t really apply to Joshua Lyman, at least in this area.” She turns to me, and places her hands on my shoulders, “You’re an amazing woman, Donna, and he probably doesn’t deserve you.”

I want to argue with her. I know he’s an ass. That he’s arrogant and he’s got some attitudes that are still stuck in the 1950’s. I know he gets tunnel-visioned to the point of monomania. But I’ve never met someone with his capacity to love.

The First Lady is watching me closely, and I know she’s reading me perfectly. “He may also have the biggest heart I’ve ever seen and I hope things turn out for you. And if you ever need help with his rectal cranial extraction, give me a call.”

I stifle a giggle. “Thank you, Dr. Bartlet, I’ll keep that in mind.” She’s whisked away to go meet with far more important people and I decide to go check in with the Congressman and Mrs. Santos, and then find my table for dinner.

_Josh’s POV_

I still don’t know what I’m doing at this wedding. I have too much work to do, and if another party elder gives me hell about Illinois - or compliments me on the campaign while sniggering at me behind my back - I’m going to lose it. I wonder if I can slip away to the west wing and find a little quiet, get things under control.

But I don’t belong over there, that’s been made more than clear. I’d probably have to get someone to sign me in, and it’s not like I have any friends there to do that. Six more weeks, I remind myself. I can do six more weeks.

And I can do another couple hours here. Dinner, the spotlight dances, the cutting of the cake, humor Zoey with a quick spin on the dance floor, then back to the office. It actually warms my heart a bit that she wants to dance with me. She and I have had a big brother-little sister thing going since the first campaign (although I think she may have had a little crush on me at the beginning there.) She likes to tease me and I take it, just like Joanie would let me…

So if Zoey wants to dance, hell yeah I’m going to stick around. It’s been over three years, but I am still so thankful we got her back. I can’t imagine what things would be like if we’d lost her. It’s almost like life’s given me a break these last few years. It’s still kicking me, but maybe it’s finally going to stop taking people away. We got Zoey back. Leo didn’t die from that heart attack. Donna survived the car bomb. And maybe I lost her as my assistant and her friendship but that’s my fault and I can still be thankful she’s alive. I will take that bargain any day of the week.

I notice at some point that people are heading back to the state floor, and assume that people are taking their seats for dinner. I take a couple calming breaths and make my way. I’m shown to a table in the Cross Hall, and Donna is already seated, talking with Will Bailey. Also seated at the table is Senator Stackhouse and his wife Lydia. I groan inwardly. I don’t dislike the Senator, but he’s caused me more than one headache over the last eight years.

I greet them both and move to take my seat, which puts my back to the wall. At least this way no one can shove a knife in it, but it does leave me feeling a little trapped. The Senator makes small talk about the campaign, and I could kiss Donna when she steps in to field most of the questions. Well, not kiss her, I won’t let my thoughts go there, but I should try to remember to thank her.

Eventually Lydia Stackhouse steps in and suggests that maybe we’d like a day off from the election, and I could definitely kiss her in relief for that. The Senator was offering a whole lot of suggestions that made absolutely no political sense - shifting to the left when we’re already fighting Vinick tooth and claw for every moderate out there would be giving up on the election.

We’re served a soup course and a salad course. I pick at it, not feeling very hungry. Donna looks concerned, but I remind her that I had breakfasts every half hour from 8 A.M. until 1. I don’t tell her those meals consisted mostly of coffee.

Lydia Stackhouse is watching this exchange and she laughs. “You know, I’ve heard for years that you two act like an old married couple, but I thought it was just an exaggeration. It must have been so hard for you to be apart in the primaries!”

I’m glad I hadn’t just taken a drink, because I would’ve choked on that. My eyes snap to hers, and hers to mine. Neither of us knows how to respond.

It’s Will, of all people, who steps up. “They were nothing but professional throughout. Josh even brought us beer and drank with us on the final night of the convention.”

Donna is still looking at me, her expression filled with an obscure pain and a hint of a challenge. I don’t accept, and look away.

“We’re all Democrats,” I say, lamely, “And the bigger fight doesn’t end for six more weeks.” It’s become a mantra for me.

The main course is served, and I’m dismayed that Ronna indeed selected the beef option for me. I stare at this piece of cow that might as well still be mooing and shudder. Without a word, even without breaking conversation with Mrs. Stackhouse, Donna swaps her plate of some trout dish for mine.

“Thank you,” I say. Her eyes flicker over to me and she looks a little surprised, but she smiles and continues chatting. I chew the fish thoughtfully.

The next hour is a bit of a blur. We finish dinner, there are toasts from the maid of honor and the best man, Ellie and Vic cut the cake, they dance to some song I don’t know - whether that’s because Schrödinger’s Cats made it unrecognizable or, more likely, because I don’t think I’ve listened to a modern radio station since college. It had something to do with moons, I think. They have to hold off on the father-daughter dance, as the President is off dealing with whatever’s happening in Kazakhstan again, with C.J. and Commander Harper, who is apparently Will’s date?

The band is playing an up tempo song that I don’t know, and Zoe is out dancing with Charlie. I move to a corner with a drink. I’m not sure when I’m going to get out of here. I see them moving together, young, energetic, on a night free of care and worry, and I’m genuinely happy for them. Both of them have been through so much and they deserve whatever joy they can grab on to.

Schrödinger’s Cats have started in on a half decent cover of “Start Me Up” by the Stones. I sneak out to call the office but no one answers.

I call Lou’s cell and get her voice mail. “Hey, this is Lou, leave a message. Unless this is Josh Lyman, in which case I’m under orders from Congressman Santos to tell you to put your damn phone away and enjoy the reception!”

I consider calling Edie but I have a feeling I’d get a variation on the same theme. The gods - or at least my candidate - are conspiring to keep me from getting anything done today. I curse softly and reenter the East Room.

Donna is on the dance floor with Lord John Marbury. He’s pretty spry for his age, but then he’s also drunk off his ass. I stamp down the old reflexive jealousy - yeah, I can admit that’s what it is now - and watch her move. She’s graceful and beautiful and sensual and I need to not think of those sorts of words in connection with her. She’s also gone out of her way today to show me she wants to repair our friendship, on the stairs and at dinner. It’s fairly clear at this point that she does care about me.

I don’t think I ever doubted it. But I needed to believe, at least a little. It’s still too much. I watch her and I think I should be out there dancing with her. She’s not my assistant anymore, she doesn’t report to me at all. We could be… something more than we were. But that isn’t what she wants. I learned that in Germany, that she didn’t love me like that. And who can blame her? I’m an middle-aged, broken egomaniac who took her for granted, worked her tirelessly, got her blown up and chased her away. I should be ecstatic that she cares at all.

She deserves my friendship. I gotta get over myself. She’s not going to love me, and I’m going to have to accept that, because I’ve tried life without her in it, and it sucks. Maybe my feelings will fade. Maybe I’ll find someone like Amy to ensorcel me and distract me.

Maybe someone like Amy, but not in politics, or at least not in competition.

The President comes in, and he and Ellie dance along to “In My Life”, joined by Vic and his mother. The Beatles are one of the few musicians in the last couple centuries I know he likes. It’s a tender moment, and I find myself getting caught up watching them. Just the love the two share, the smiles they have for each other ends up mirrored on my own face.

“Wow, have the storm clouds finally dispersed? Is that a smile I see on dour old Josh Lyman?” Zoey has snuck up on me, with Charlie in tow.

“Hey Zo, Charlie,” I say, still watching the dance.

“I’ve come to collect on that dance you owe me,” the President’s daughter says, her voice filled with confidence and mirth.

“I am at your disposal, m’lady,” I remark, with a mock flourish. Oh, to finally be free of this purgatory.

We all applaud as the dance concludes, and the President kisses his daughter on the cheek. They clear the floor, and the band starts up with a song I may have heard back in the 90’s. It’s pretty bouncy, and Zoey drags Charlie back out. The dance floor is fairly sparse for the size of the event, but given the guest list, I’m not surprised three term senators and stodgy ambassadors aren’t out there shaking their respective booties. Ellie and Vic’s friends are game, so it isn’t a complete wash.

It’s a couple more songs when I hear the lead singer begin a version of Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” from that disaster movie from the ’90’s. It’s slow enough that I’m not surprised with Zoey rushes over to grab my hand and pulls me onto the floor. I go to take her hand, but she puts her arms around my neck and I suddenly feel profoundly uncomfortable. Warning sirens are going off in my head, I mean, her father, _the President_ , is watching, and he’s got that “I command the 82nd Airborne” look on his face

“Relax,” she smiles at me, “It’s going to be fine.”

“Yeah?” I say, looking around. I give in and place my hands on her waist and we begin to dance. Out of the corner of my eye I notice that Charlie is dancing with Donna, far more gracefully than I’m providing for Zoey.

“So I never get to see you anymore. How are you?”

I shrug. “Busy. Campaigning, you know how it is.”

“You goof. Do you remember that day you set me up with Charlie?” she asks, “When I told you you looked like death on a triscuit?”

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“It was a momentous occasion.” She looks at me, “Anyway, you look worse.”

“Gee, thanks. You look fantastic, by the way,” I say. “That was what, six years ago? I don’t think I appreciated how good we had it back then.”

“Well, look at you now, all grown up and running your own campaign,” she says. “You know we’re counting on you to protect dad’s-“

“Zoey.” I interrupt her. “I almost got fired today.”

“Well that would have been phenomenally stupid of them. You are the Santos campaign. Who could they possibly replace you with?”

I don’t answer, just continue to move vaguely to the rhythm.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, it would still be stupid. You can do this, Josh. You just have to remember that you aren’t alone and stop trying to do it all yourself.”

“Am I that obvious?”

She looks at me, with a little frown on her face. “When Josh Lyman doesn’t hire Donna Moss, the world’s gone just a little bit crazy.”

“Zo-“

“I’m serious!” She’s pouting at me.

“Zoey,” I repeat myself, “I screwed that up. I know. I’m going to try to fix it.” If, and I hope I haven’t misjudged it, she still wants to be my friend.

“Good.” The song is ending, and we stop moving. I pull my hands away, still cognizant that the President of the United States has been watching me dance with his daughter.

_”Ooh, you make me live…”_ The band’s transitioned to Queen.

Zoey pulls my head down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Start now.”

With that she takes Charlie away, leaving me and Donna standing there.

_Donna’s POV_

_Whatever this world can give to me_   
_It's you, you're all I see_

Josh is looking at me. I’ve just had a very nice dance with Charlie, but he’s abandoned me to go off with Zoey, and left me in the middle of the dance floor, facing Josh.

He swallows, hard. “Shall we?” he says, flashing his dimples, but the bravado doesn’t last long enough for me to respond. “I mean,” he says, “if you want, if you’d care to…”

“I’d love to,” I say, letting him off the hook. There have been times when it’s been fun to watch him squirm, but not today. He offers me his hand, and I take it, and we begin to move together.

We don’t say anything at first. I can see on his face he has a million things on his mind, that he’s trying to articulate his feelings, and I’m going to give him a chance to wrangle them into coherence. I’m half-thrilled and half-scared, but I’m dancing with Josh and even if it was a set up by Zoey and Charlie, I’m OK with that.

“Donna,” he begins.

I watch him struggle. I can feel the walls we’ve built crumbling. I know he’s trying to gulf the divide, but I also know this is something he has to do on his own. I’ve done my part, I’ve planted the seeds of reconciliation, and I need him to meet me out on the limb.

“Donna,” he says again. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. You’re right, you’ve always been my friend, and I am a complete jerk for ever doubting that you cared.”

“Oh Josh,” I say, “It’s fine. I understand why. I left-“

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Please, let’s not do that now. We can have that conversation later, or not at all, but just for tonight, let’s just dance and… be friends again. I’ve missed that.”

“Me too,” I smile at him.

“I promise to make it up to you,” he continues. “You can call me any time, and it doesn’t have to be about the campaign. Even if it’s just to say you’ve had a bad day and need to hear a friendly voice. I can be that friendly voice, Donna, I swear I can. I know I messed up, and I haven’t been the friend you needed and I pushed you away and …”

“Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re drifting into things we can talk about later. Just dance with me” I say.

“‘Kay.” He bows his head. It’s pretty cute.

I don’t know what’s changed his mind. I’m not one to tempt the wrath of anything from high atop anywhere, but I was beginning to wonder if he could keep me out until Election Day. I take a chance and move in closer, laying my head on his shoulder. He stiffens, just a bit, and then relaxes.

_You're my only one_  
_And I love the things_  
_I really love the things that you do_  
_Oh, you're my best friend_

“We’re going to get through this,” I say into his ear. “We’re going to get Matt Santos elected and we’re going to spend the next eight years doing all the things we always promised ourselves we would.” I pause a little, giving him time to think of those secret promises we’ve made about each other in our hearts. “You don’t have to do this by yourself, Josh, you can’t.”

“Yeah,” he admits. Which is a huge step for him.

_Oh, you're my best friend_

“OK,” I murmur and we dance round and round as the song fades out.

The song is over, but he doesn’t let go of my hand, and I don’t pull away. I see a dozen emotions play across his face, and I want to make this easier for him, but I can’t. I see that he loves me, and that he can’t make himself believe that I love him in return. I see the sadness of our time apart. I see the tension of the day fading. I almost see him relax.

“Donna?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

And he’s hugging me. And it’s a proper Josh hug, our bodies meshing together, and I know how much he has missed me and I know, without him needing to say it, that he trusts me again.

And for today, this is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got long, so sorry about that. But I wanted to close the story out and give a sort of happy ending, which still won't really come until "The Cold", but here's a path to that. I'm really harping on the line in "The Birnam Wood" - that Donna threw Josh out, and let Colin stay - but I think it really tells us how things got bad in season 6, at least from his perspective.
> 
> For those of you who make it to the end, thanks for toughing it out. I'm... going to write something a little fluffier now.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd originally planned this just from Donna's POV, but she missed some important scenes I want to cover. Later chapters should start moving us out of the angst, as they seem to be friends again, or close to it, in the episode following this one.


End file.
